


Untitled #1, Experiment.

by HarkerX



Series: The Yellow Notebook [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Omega, Daddy Issues, Fingerfucking, For Science!, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Hannibal's house, I Don't Even Know, Knotting, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No mpreg, Not Canon Compliant, Omega Will Graham, References to Knotting, Sex Toys, Will is Will, Will's Yellow Notebook, no murder on the menu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-29 09:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15726207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarkerX/pseuds/HarkerX
Summary: He washes himself clinically and with intention. He is careful not to linger to long near his cock, and when he feels the urge come, as he knew it would, to slip a finger inside his hole, to feel what slick might be forming, he stops himself. The experiment is control. Over himself and over his body.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know! There is a chance this will continue, could continue, but this is where my brain has left the thing?
> 
> I stumbled upon a/b/o and found myself fascinated by the dynamic. (If you have not read Mark Me Not a Savage by KatherineKrawl please go do that now, it's amazing). This is my first attempt at Hannibal/Will fic, and my first attempt at Hannibal/Will porn (almost-porn?) and my first attempt at a/b/o so feedback is highly welcome.
> 
> For now, this is a one-shot without a real title. If I continue it, I will update the info to reflect (it will also move from M to E!). I am on team murder husbands, I just don't think this fic will go that way.
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> -hX
> 
> Edit: I thought this was a one-shot, it's not. Updated tags and rating to reflect. Thank you for reading! :)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_An object will remain at rest or in uniform motion_

_unless acted upon by an external force._

_-Newton's first law_

 

 

 

 

Will Graham doesn't knock. He doesn't have a key, either, because this is not a place he lives although it often feels like the place he is most at home. He made a decision and now he's here and his hand is warm around the cold metal and the click of the lock, of the opening door, sounds like a gun cocking, and everything in his body is coiled far too tightly.

If he is the mongoose then Hannibal is the snake and being here means Will is in striking distance.

Will stands at the threshold to Lecter's office, framed in wood. Coffin wood, if the size is right. Will puts his hand on the doorframe as if deciding whether to pull himself in, or push himself back out.

"Will," Hannibal says, with a cursory glance at his watch before he stands up from his desk. "Did we have an appointment?"

"I was in the neighbourhood," Will says. An hour drive and ten o'clock at night means Hannibal asking if they had an appointment is the polite thing to do.

The man motions to the same chair Will sits in every time they meet. The leather doesn't make it comfortable, but next to Hannibal a bed of nails would feel like one of those mattresses you buy off the Internet, the kind that shows up on your porch in a box and he should probably finally open his or give it to Alana.

Discomfort is what reminds him he's alive.

"Will?"

Will shakes his head and then circles the chair the way Winston does, but Will only goes once around before he lowers himself into leather and metal.

Hannibal opens his blazer so the fabric doesn't pull and settles himself into the opposite chair. "You missed our last appointment. I assume it was not because you do not find my time valuable." He pauses. "Are you all right?"

At least Hannibal has the decency to ask, if not the decency to actually care. "I..." and then the words expand in his chest. A science experiment, two opposing forces, two opposing chemicals, hate and lust and he squeezes his eyes closed because he has to pick one and it's not supposed to be the second so he fights to pull up the first.

Sends out a lure.

A lifeline. Reels it in.

Lust hangs from a hook he designed two days ago when he finally dumped the bottle of unused pills down the toilet, naked and drowning in the scent of his own slick, his oncoming heat.

"You look warm," Hannibal offers. "Are you ill?"

Will laughs and drags a finger under the collar of his blue plaid shirt. His nails are too long but still he can't help but scratch. Ill is what Dr. Lecter made him. Sick is what he's become. "I stopped taking my suppressants," he says, finally, and Hannibal leans back in his own stiff, angled chair and takes a breath.

"There is a risk in that," Hannibal reminds him. "How are you controlling yourself?"

"I like to think of myself as a jar with a very tight lid," Will says.

"A container that does not want to be sealed will either implode or explode," Hannibal reminds him.

"I know basic chemistry."

"Is basic chemistry why you are here, or is it what we have?"

Again, Will tugs at his collar. "We both know I'm already your experiment."

Hannibal picks up his pen, his notebook, and some semblance of good psychiatry. "I consider it interesting that you are off of your suppressants and the first person you seek is me." He pauses, looks at Will. "You do not smell like a man about to enter his heat."

Will would say, _neither do you_ , but of course with Hannibal its rut and what Will smells is Hannibal's cologne, the wool of his suit. "It's masked," he says, studying the crease of Hannibal's slacks.

Hannibal furrows his brow.

Will taps his too-long nails. "You need to spend more time on the Internet." Then he thinks of his mattress in a box and Hannibal and Hannibal _on_ the mattress and he squirms slightly and curls his fingers around the arms of the chair.

Hannibal takes a deep breath. "You might consider returning your purchase." He pauses. "There's no risk if you come here smelling like a piece of copier paper."

Will lifts his right arm and smells his own skin. Heat crawls up the back of his neck. "Would you prefer I did?" Return it.

"Why are you here Will?"

He knows Hannibal wants him to say it aloud. Hannibal's not in rut, Will is not yet in heat, not for another few hours at least, and this isn't some pathetic, primal begging display. This is Will in a chair talking to his therapist. Not his therapist. They are merely having conversations.

This is Will wanting something he can't quite put into words.

"Science," Will says and then he shifts, again. He worried about this, about Hannibal and his needing body and how it might react to an Alpha once the drugs were fully out of his system, but he planned for that, too. Turns out you can buy other things on the internet besides pheromone blockers and mattresses and although his purchase was slightly smaller than he would have preferred, marbled and blue and flared at the base, when he moves he finds it's not entirely unpleasant. It fills him in one way, ensuring he's not inclined to desperately seek out another.

"A typical experiment requires a control group," Hannibal says, with a tap of his pen to his notebook.

"My whole life has been a control group, a series of rules and guidelines implemented either by pharmaceutical or societal expectation."

"And you wish to abandon both?"

Did he?

Hannibal's office is a controlled environment. When Will finds himself here, it feels as if a number of tumblers are falling into place, allowing the space between them to open, allowing Will to open. Flushing his pills means there are no longer barriers between them.

"You seem certain that this experiment will prove an Omega free of suppressants will be able to avoid being compromised by an Alpha who has no desire to suppress neither his will nor his nature."

"Is that a threat, Dr. Lecter?"

"Merely an observation."

"Tell me what you see," Will says.

Hannibal drags a hand down the front of his shirt. "You're nervous, and also hiding something, even as you've told me the truth of what you've done and on some level what you want, but not necessarily the full truth of why."

Why.

Why is because even with his senses dulled by drugs there's a pull down deep in his belly and when Will so much as thinks of Hannibal...

"Science," Will repeats.

Hannibal nods. "So you claim." Then Hannibal is up and walking to his desk. "My answering service closes at 10:30." He glances at Will as he dials the number. "Tomorrow's appointments will need to be rescheduled. You will stay here tonight."

"I don't think—"

"No, perhaps you did not think, but you do want." Hannibal pauses and without looking up, says, "Please take a shower, the blankness of your scent is off-putting."

A shower will wash the pheromone mask from his skin. A shower will have him smell like Hannibal's soap. Hannibal's shampoo. A shower will clean him, and unless he is very careful, it will make him Hannibal's to soil.

#

Will turns the bathroom light on and starts the water. This is not the first time Will has washed himself clean for the Doctor. The bathroom, not unlike the rest of Hannibal's home, is rich without being ostentatious and there are at least a dozen more towels folded in this one closet than Will has in his own home. Will doesn't bother closing the bathroom door. Hannibal is two floors down and, he assumes, will afford the man his privacy.

Steam fills the room. Will stands in front of the vanity, staring at the mirror until it is mist, until his features are fuzzy, dream-hazy. He breathes in, and with one hand on the bathroom counter, reaches back. He drags his fingers over the curve of his ass and lightly touches the object buried there. Dropping his chin to his chest, he pulls the plug free with two fingers and places it base down on his towel.

There is a vacancy, and there is desire to be filled. A bead of sweat trails down Will's temple and lands on the back of his hand. He licks away salt and breathes in the humid air. His cock twitches, an idle response to friction, to a change in state.

He should clean the toy. Rinse it and roll it up in the bundle of wrinkled clothing he left on the floor. He does neither of those things.

Wiping his hair back from his forehead, Will steps into the shower.

#

He washes himself clinically and with intention. He is careful not to linger to long near his cock, and when he feels the urge come, as he knew it would, to slip a finger inside his hole, to feel what slick might be forming, he stops himself. The experiment is control. Over himself and over his body.

Around Hannibal.

He washes his hair; the shampoo is sandalwood and dusk. How shampoo can smell of a setting sun, Will doesn't know. He stands under the spray and the water is baptism.

He takes too long.

When he is done, he steps out and curls his toes into the too-soft bathmat. Resting on his towel, beside the toy he pulled from his body, there is a second, larger, and, he assumes, heavier, and infinitely more expensive steel plug—one that somehow manages to look both obscene and like a piece of modern art. There is also a perfectly folded and luxuriously soft plain white t-shirt, a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a bottle of lube.

            There is also a note.

          _Make yourself comfortable._

_-H_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will continues to navigate the complex states of heat and desire. Hannibal has sex toys.  
> Being an Omega is hard work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one-shot is no longer a one shot :D Will is in Heat. Hannibal is mostly being a gentleman. Conversation, sex toys and masturbation, what's not to love? (also, science terms? Hopefully I didn't screw them up!)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, for the comments and kudos, and I hope you like this. 
> 
> -hX

Will studies the silver plug. Covers it with his hand and then strokes his fingers over the seamless, smooth metal. Saliva pools under his tongue.

Next to his impromptu 1-click purchase, it is a weapon, an elegantly brutal invitation.

There's a warmth to the metal. It smells like Hannibal. Not his sex, not the wicked pull of the Alpha's pheromones, but like Hannibal's skin, as if the man had carefully cradled the object in the palm of his hands, considered it and warmed it, before placing it on the towel for Will.

The object has weight and balance and Will holds it in his palm as if awaiting Hannibal's instruction. He wonders if Hannibal watched him as he rinsed shampoo from his hair, as he scrubbed himself clean with a bamboo cloth and Hannibal's soap?

The scent of night-blooming roses fills the room.

Oncoming heat.

There, the twitch of his cock. Will breathes down desire and in return, his body relaxes. He closes his eyes in an attempt to separate his animal instincts and the need to mate, from the simple fact that Hannibal owns enough sex toys to offer them as gifts to overnight guests. 

This is part of the process for Will, the new process, the _experiment_ , wherein at the moment of arousal he closes his eyes and runs through a mental checklist, does his best to separate the needs of his gender, his Omega, from the needs of his sexuality, what there is of his ordinary, human desire. Control over his own body and his own responses means giving himself permission to act on the desires he chooses, instead of those that choose him.

Gender is Omega. Omega responds to Alpha. Before Will went on suppressants, his Omega response was immediate and all encompassing. His forebrain held no dominion and so he found himself fucked through his heat by any number of strangers. He has no guilt and no shame. He had a need. He fulfilled the need. When he found himself bored by the idea of another mindless fuck, another bathroom fuck, another random fuck by another random Alpha demanding to knot the helpless, needy Omega, he went on suppressants.

Preference is not gender. His sexual preference is not anonymous sex in gas station bathrooms. His sexual preference, he's starting to suspect, is Hannibal.

Will swallows down desire. There is the matter of control. There is the matter of Hannibal and how, even when the drugs held back his Omega, Will would jack off thinking of the older man. If the goal is control and governance over his own body, his own heat, then he must both work to understand and accept his desires outside of the heat-state. Outside of the mating/heat cycle.

It means understanding and acknowledging where gender and preference intersect and where they diverge. It means accepting that this pearl of pre-come, his now-weeping cock, can’t be explained away by mere biology.

The experiment is about control. Over himself and his own body. It is not about denying his body’s needs, but understanding them. Dealing with them in a measured and controlled way. Dealing with his cock now, his desire now, may avoid a potentially perilous situation later.

Will slides the shower door back open. Leaning into the sharp edge of the door's track, he closes his eyes. Holding the ball-end of the silver butt plug in one hand, he works his cock with the other. He falls into the rhythm of it, a steady tug and drag of fingers until his belly tightens and he gasps.

He turns on the water and rinses his fingers, watching the stream of milk-white circle the drain. Disappear. He licks at his teeth and wraps his fingers around the base-end of the plug. He opens his mouth. This, too, is unnecessary but it's something he has always enjoyed, and so he closes his eyes and laps at the plug until it shines with his spit. For a moment it becomes the head of Hannibal's cock.

For a moment. Then the moment passes and it’s only metal.

He dons the clothes Hannibal left for him. The t-shirt is easily the softest thing he has ever worn.

He bundles up his old clothes, cradling the old jeans and flannel shirt in the crook of his elbow. The blue butt plug is left on the counter alongside a slightly-used toothbrush he presumes to be Hannibal's.

There is still the matter of the silver plug. He feels no need for it, not now, for he is sated and his heat is not yet crawling at him, clawing at him. The orgasm may have calmed him, but he has this sense that when he goes to find Hannibal, the older man will be disappointed if Will has left himself empty. It is understood that the toy is Hannibal’s cock-by-proxy.

This experiment, this desire Will has to control and understand his own responses, is also this: a test of Hannibal's own.

And so he pushes the waistband of the pajama pants down over the curve of his ass and with a practiced twist, slides the toy into his welcoming hole.

  
#

 

Hannibal is the kitchen, making tea.

"Thank you for the clothing," Will says. The steel toy moves slightly, a pleasant, heavy weight against his prostate, his glands, stimulating them, encouraging his oncoming heat in an ephemeral, gentle way.

"I take it everything fit."

Will nods and takes his own deep breath. Omega senses heighten during a oncoming heat, and he can smell Hannibal's own orgasm as surely as the good doctor can scent his own. "You're not in rut."

"I am not," Hannibal says, and as he fusses with the teapot, a tangle of dried leaves unfurl in the boiling water, revealing a heart-red centre. "However, I felt it important to be cautious. Historically, I have found myself less likely to react to an Omega's scent if I have been recently satisfied. You came here with a desire to test your own impulses while in the presence of an Alpha your Omega finds desirable. You chose me because you are confident I would find amusement in this experiment of yours." He pauses. "And in that amusement, be willing to play along."

The image of Hannibal jacking off brings warmth to the back of Will's neck and his mouth is salt. "You jerked off for science."

"Yes," the older man responds, and there is no shame in it. "A sound decision, given the allure of your scent. Tell me, does the addition of constant stimulation prove to be an acceptable method of containment, or are we still in a test phase?"

"Proven," Will says, as if they are speaking of the weather and not the stimulation of his prostate. "Stimulation as distraction, or, alternately, a promise of future release."

“A suitable, yet presumably temporary, lid." Hannibal pours the tea. Will reaches, curls his hand around a warm mug.

When Hannibal lifts his own teacup, Will can't help but notice the man's forearm, the shifting of lean muscle and the way Hannibal's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

"What then, " Hannibal continues, "when the body adapts to the constant stimulation, and therefore ceases to recognize it as stimulation and instead considers it a new-natural-state?"

Hannibal's toy might as well be Hannibal's fist.

"Every experiment consists of three variables," Will says. Of course, Hannibal must know this.

The variable that does not change, the _controlled_ , is his heat. The variable to be studied, the _dependant_ , is Will. The last, is why he is here.

Will slides three fingers beneath his waistband. Hannibal swallows.

"The dependant variable depends on the nature of the _independent_ variable."

It is not quite invitation.  
But Will means it all the same.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Should I lock my bedroom door?" Hannibal asks. This is the addition of another variable. Question. Consent. The offer of protection, of a wall. A barrier. The offer is not a kindness, but a test. Yes is the answer Hannibal wants. Acknowledgement. Confirmation that Will’s base desire, his Omega need, will drag him to the Alpha. His Omega will present for the Alpha.
> 
> His Omega will demand the mate, the knot. Rut. The Alpha determines an Omega’s worth. This is part of the test.

 

"Should I lock my bedroom door?" Hannibal asks. This is the addition of another variable. Question. Consent. The offer of protection, of a wall. A barrier. The offer is not a kindness, but a test. _Yes_ is the answer Hannibal wants. Acknowledgement. Confirmation that Will’s base desire, his Omega need, will drag him to the Alpha. His Omega will present for the Alpha.

His Omega will demand the mate, the knot. Rut. The Alpha determines an Omega’s worth. This is part of the test. 

They are standing the hallway, far enough from each other they can't touch, not even if Will stretched out his hand, not even if he took a single step forward.

“A locked door would defeat the experiment's purpose," Will says. "I need to be able to control my own responses. Yearning for, and then succumbing to your physical touch while in a heat cycle would immediately end the experiment, would prove that there is no agency in Omega.”

They both know the Alpha won't come to Will, Hannibal has more reserve than that. Or not reserve, exactly, for Hannibal is no stranger to self-gratification. It's just that Will knows the older man would rather see him beg. Would prefer Will desperate and pathetic, aching and mewling, his ass up in the air and his body wet with slick, begging for the heft of Hannibal's cock.

“You will still need release.”

It is dangerous, Will knows, to attempt a heat cycle without orgasm. He has has read the studies. The test is not the _absence_ of orgasm, but the enduring of a heat/mate cycle without mating, without offering himself to an Alpha simply because the Alpha is _there_. To survive this heat without being knotted. To separate Omega need, from his own desires. “Will that be a problem?”

Hannibal’s laugh is so soft it’s barely audible. "If you enter my bedroom," he warns. "I will mount you."

A deep blush spreads over Will's face. His cock twitches.

 Hannibal's smile becomes a smirk and he points to Will's crotch, the already tenting fabric. "Shall I leave you to it?"

Will shakes his head. "Succumbing to a heat response triggered by the promise or threat of an Alpha/Omega sex act, the act of mating and knotting, removes my desire and my agency from the equation, leaving only the Omega. The Omega responds to the idea of being mounted. Mated. It is primal, not personal.” 

The older man looks amused. "You brought yourself to orgasm in my shower."

Will nods. That had very little to do with his Omega.

"But deny yourself this second release."

“A decision made based on the desire’s core trigger.” Hannibal's toy offers enough stimulation that his returning heat is tampered, quiet. A cat, idly scratching at the door.

“You are treating your heat response as a thing that can be managed without an Alpha’s interference or engagement.” 

Exactly. “I believe it can be.” 

“You understand that I did not entirely agree to this.” He pauses. “And yet here you are.” 

“Yes.”

In the end, what does Hannibal like more than a worm on a hook?

"A single foot over the threshold implies consent."

#

Heat, for Will, comes and ends quickly. Two phases. The first phase, he knows, lasts approximately six hours. He also knows his heat tends to rise slowly on day one, cresting around midnight, and subsiding somewhere between six and seven a.m. Hannibal wakes at seven, providing them a two or three hour window to eat breakfast together before Will’s heat cycle will begin again. The second cycle, if Will does not mate in the first, tends to be worse.

Typically, when he is done, he takes a very long nap.

All of this is recorded in a small, yellow notebook. Will is now tucked in Hannibal’s spare bed under a down quilt, propped up on feather pillows, in a room painted the comforting grey of a dove’s wing. More notes are made. He records what he felt in Hannibal’s bathroom, the arousal state leading up to masturbation, how he felt knowing Hannibal had sought his own release. There are bullet points and a table. He records his own desire. He makes note that at no point did he move to touch Hannibal, nor did Hannibal attempt to touch him. He is honest about his body’s response to the idea of being mounted by an Alpha, compared to his experience as a man desiring another man. The distinction between want and need. There is a scribble, like a Venn diagram, in the place where they intersect.

He notes the specific smell of Hannibal’s release, and how he could not detect any sign of rut.

At 11:40p.m., there is the telltale scent of slick. He removes the metal plug, tucks the notebook under his pillow and closes his eyes.

Two hours later, the sheets are soaked. Slick coats his thighs and his hair is dripping with sweat. His mouth his dry and he’s tangled in Hannibal’s top sheet. The comforter is a knot on the floor. Will is on his stomach, grinding his cock into the mattress. It takes a minute, but when he realizes he’s close to release, he forces himself to stop. He fists the bedding, presses his forehead into the mattress and breathes until his heart rate drops. Reaching for the metal plug, he slides it quickly into his slick hole. His ass twitches, pulsing against its girth. He rocks slowly, the toy moves inside him and for a second he calms, the pressure on his prostate acting as a salve. His need to be fucked slowly subsides.

This he records in his little yellow notebook. 

He slips back into a fitful, dreamless sleep. 

Sometime later the pain is almost unbearable. Will shoves a hand between his legs and coats his fingers with slick. He grips the base of the toy and brutally fucks himself until he is panting, crying. He comes in a sudden surge, a low wail,and the urge to go to Hannibal, to the Alpha, is so strong he tears into the palm of his free hand with his teeth until he tastes blood.

When he finally settles, he makes a note in the yellow notebook and falls asleep, his blood a brutal stain on Hannibal’s sheets.

 

#

 

There is the creaking of a door, of floorboards. Will is only half-awake, the silver plug is clenched in his hand like a good luck charm, and his cock is hard and seeping. He squints into the dark. Hannibal doesn’t believe in LED light and reading the old-fashioned alarm clock is impossible until his eyes adjust. When they do, he sees it’s 5:30am.

There’s a glass of water beside his bed that wasn’t there before.

There is also a rather large, thick dildo. It is inelegant. It is as wide as Will's hand. Its base is a knot.

There is a note.

 

_Should this not suffice, the invitation stands._

 

_-H_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and, this very short what i thought was 1-chapter-wonder just keeps on going. :)  
> Thank you for the kudos, and for reading. 
> 
> If all goes well the rest will be up in the next couple of days!
> 
> Also, i think I want to read the rest of what's in this little yellow notebook :D
> 
> -hX


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there a chance they will have that conversation? Where Will gifts Hannibal his desires, his needs, his fetishes and lets the man pick and choose, honour or deny?
> 
> Will reaches takes back the pen. It’s the briefest of touches. It’s air, passing over skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is some non-canon use of canon things in this chapter. Perhaps historic dub-consent because heat&rut, but Will sees it differently.
> 
> Will continues to destroy Hannibal's bedding. 
> 
> Maybe this is really notebook porn? 
> 
> (I promise our heroes eventually touch each other) 
> 
> thank you again for all of the kudos love and comment love. Unless something changes, there's 2 more chapters after this one. :)
> 
> -hX

 

By 6:30am, it’s as if his heat never happened. Hannibal’s spare bedroom looks and reeks like a frat party-slash-orgy and Will feels slightly guilty for ruining the sheets. The dildo lies untouched, but the water is gone. He is slick and sweat and come. The meat of his hand ragged and bruise-purple. Aches. So does the rest of him.

He decides to send the bed in a box to Alana after all.

The toy he leaves on the nightstand. He walks to the shower and turns on the water. Stands under the warm, soothing spray, until all of his sticky slick and dried come is washed away. It takes a third of a bar of soap, but eventually he feels almost human, or at least close enough to pass. He dries off, pads back to his room.

The bed is freshly made.

Hannibal sits on the end of it, holding the little yellow notebook. Neither of them acknowledge that Will is naked.

“Did you read it?”

Hannibal nods and turns the book over. “Some. I was curious.” He turns the notebook over. “How many times did you orgasm?”

The conversation is clinical. Hannibal is a doctor, after all.

“Three, four. Five if one wasn’t when I was alert.” Not many, not for him. Not enough, for although his first cycle is over, his Omega is nowhere near satisfied. Will points to the clock. “We have somewhere between two and three hours to pretend I’m civilized.”

“Your Omega status does not make you an animal.”

“So they say.” He glances down at his hand. “Do you have a band aid?”

Hannibal makes a low noise in his throat and holds out his hand. There is risk in this, Will knows, but part of this experiment has to be about touch. So he puts his hand into Hannibal’s hand, palm up, and doesn’t make a fuss as Hannibal examines his wound.

“It’s a bit late for polysporin.”

“Figures,” Will says, drawing his hand back.

“How do you feel?” Hannibal asks.

It’s a complicated question. “Sore. Tired. I got your note.”

Hannibal smiles. “And when you read it, how did you feel?”

“How did you feel when you wrote it?” This is Will between heat cycles. Ornery, frustrated.

“Like I very much wanted to be inside you,” Hannibal says.

That’s all it takes for Will’s cock to twitch, for his body to respond.

There is a kindness in the way Hannibal pretends not to notice, in the way he just keeps talking. “If the purpose of the experiment is to assist in determining how best to curb your Omega urges and desires within the hours leading up to, and through your heat cycles, what about in the space between them?

What about the space? “That’s for showering and toast.”

“Duly noted,” Hannibal replies. He stands, drops Will’s notebook to the bed, and leaves the room. There is the shower, and more t-shirts.

And a pang of wanting, just behind Will’s ribcage.

#

Hannibal is in the kitchen frying eggs and sausage. It is domesticity. To Will, it feels impossible. Like catching a snowflake on your tongue and believing it won’t melt.

There are two plates, juice and coffee. Will sets his pen and the yellow notebook beside his fork.

“Tell me,” Hannibal says, as he flips the eggs in the pan, “has your heat ever been triggered by an Alpha’s rut?”

Will curls his hand around the larger of the two coffee mugs. It’s the sort of mug Will would choose, were he put in charge of the tableware. “When I was sixteen.”

“When you presented?”

“Hrm,” Will says.

“Tell me.”

“He was a neighbour. Older. I knew him in passing, to say hello. Went fishing with my dad, sometimes. I fixed his boat motor. He scented me, came to find me. Walked into the room and my body flipped out. We fucked for twelve hours straight.”

Will considers it consensual. 

“What was his name?”

“Garret Jacob Hobbs.”

“A name fit for a serial killer,” Hannibal laughs and slides eggs onto Will’s plate.

“Nine years ago he was arrested for murder.”

Hannibal doesn’t react, not really. If he had, Will would have been disappointed. Instead, the older man lowers the frypan to the stovetop. “How did that make you feel?”

“Betrayed,” Will replies.

“Do you feel it has anything do with your—”

Will doesn’t let him finish. “Daddy issues?”

“Yes,” Hannibal replies. “Sexual desire for a strong, male role model often imprints during—”

“I see my Daddy issues as a feature, not a bug.”

“Perhaps they also speak to our compatibility.” With that, Hannibal picks up Will’s pen and taps the rim of his plate. “I recommend recording that in your little notebook. A placeholder.”

Is there a chance they will have that conversation? Where Will gifts Hannibal his desires, his needs, his fetishes and lets the man pick and choose, honour or deny?

Will reaches takes back the pen. It’s the briefest of touches. It’s air, passing over skin.

#

Two hours later Will is sitting cross legged in the spare bedroom, flipping through his little yellow notebook. He is still dressed in a plain white t-shirt. Another pair of pajama pants.

Hannibal went for a walk. When Will declined the invitation, Hannibal seemed disappointed.

#

There is abrush of fabric, the opening of a closet door. The creak of floorboards.

It is comfort.

A familiar warmth spreads through his lower body as his glands swell. Slick fills him, coating the inside of his thighs. The silver plug waits on the nightstand.

He leaves it there for now.

There is the whistling of a kettle.

It is birdsong.

#

An hour later, Will is naked and panting. The air is heavy with slick. His hand is around his cock and he is staring at the dildo Hannibal gave him. He reaches for it, curls his hand around it. Slides it between his thighs until it is wet with him. There is the headboard, the curl of his hand for balance, the imprint of his thumb on the upholstery. His knees make dents in the bedding. When he leans forward. When he angles his body to accept what Hannibal offered, he does so in a sigh.The dildo opens him.

He lowers himself until he is full, until the soft rubber slides against his prostate, already so swollen.

He should be ashamed.

He should have closed the door.

But there is only his heat. Only the demanding need of his Omega. Orgasm is a salve. Distraction. Orgasm is the feeding of raw meat to a howling, desperate wolf denied the pleasure of the kill.

Orgasm is the moment in which the whole of him contracts and shooting, falling stars explode behind his closed eyes. He makes a wish. The dildo and its knot fill him completely. He has never been so empty.

There is the sound of a door and footsteps.

He closes his eyes and pretends it’s not Hannibal. Not Hannibal in the hallway, not Hannibal at his threshold. Not Hannibal, watching.

There is sleep. Ten, twenty minutes. Ten seconds, fives seconds, he doesn’t know. He wakes in a fever.He is stroking himself, fucking himself with his fingers, riding his own hand.

He is on the floor.

He is naked and lying in the hallway outside a bedroom door that is not his own.

He is begging for his Alpha. A plaintive wail.

Later, he is tucked in his bed with no memory of how he got there. He curls over. Curls up. His cock aches. He is sweat and salt.

The dildo is wrapped in a tangle of blanket. He pulls it close and slides it back inside. It stretches him open, widens him.

Prepares him for his Alpha.

Hannibal’s name is nothing more than another unfulfilled wish upon his tongue.

There is a shadow in the doorway.

“Will.”

Demand. Order. At the sound of his Alpha’s voice, Will comes in a heavy, panting scream.

The scent of Hannibal fills the room. Will works the dildo until he comes again, and again, and again, until his orgasm is dry, until he is stretched and aching and bleeding, even as he drags his cock head over the wet, come-stained blankets.

When he is at last lucid, or lucid enough, Will rolls over and finds his notebook.

On so many otherwise blank pages, he has scrawled a single word:

_Hannibal._

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal stands over him. There is a dildo and a butt plug on the floor. Hannibal drops to his haunches. Leans in. Kisses Will’s hair. “I thought you would come to me sooner.”

By the time Will’s heat subsides, the day is over, the sun has set and a low grey light fills the house. There is come and slick beneath his nails and blood in his mouth and the throbbing ache of his hole, of his cock.

The experiment was about control. Over himself and his own body. It was not entirely about denying his body’s needs, but understanding them. Dealing with them in a measured and controlled way.There are notes in the notebook.

There is the ruin of Hannibal’s spare bedroom.

There is the matter of Hannibal.

Will finds water. Washes his face. Considers the shower. Considers washing away the remains of his heat, of his experiment, slick and come and blood proof he made it through his heat without mating. There is proof he wanted Hannibal.

He doesn’t know how many times he came, how many times he wrapped his hand around his cock or worked his hole.

How many times he begged for Hannibal. Called for him.

Begged not for some nameless, faceless fuck, any cock…but for Hannibal. The Alpha who never crossed the threshold. Who never compromised Will, never used him. Never treated him like a nameless, random fuck.

A willing mouth.

A man who made him come in the whisper of his name.

There is a misunderstanding in mating/heat cycles that an Alpha in rut requires an in-heat Omega in order to knot. There is a misunderstanding in mating/heat cycles, Will knows, that suggests an Alpha, when _not_ in rut, when not driven solely by a desire to mate and breed, is unable to knot his lover. An attracted, bonded Alpha/Omega pair, when either are not in heat or rut, can knot. He suspects Hannibal knows this as well.

There is no shower. He pulls on the pajama pants, knotting the drawstring at his waist. The fabric hangs low on his hips.

There is the shiny silver plug and the messy, well-used dildo. He carries them both.

Goes down the hall.

Hannibal is in his bedroom folding a cable-knit sweater. Sandalwood and dusk fill the air. Hannibal is not in rut. Will’s Omega is dormant. Sated. He could walk away, and when his heat returns, he could come back here, to this spare room, to this Alpha. There would still be breakfast.

He could fuck himself senseless in Hannibal’s spare bed and pretend it was fair to them both.

There would be tea. Saucers.

There would be this man, folding a sweater beyond a threshold Will’s Omega did not cross.

There would be this man who man smells of sandalwood and dusk.

_If you._

If the goal is control, governance over his own body and his own heat, it is also this: the acceptance of his wants. His desires.

_If you enter_

Will leans into the doorframe. 

_My bedroom,_

Hannibal glances at the dildo, the silver plug.

_If you enter my bedroom,_

He places the sweater on the nightstand and points to the foot of the bed, to a spot on the floor.

There is heat.

There is desire.

There is knowing the difference.

_I._

Hannibal waits.

_I will._

Will takes three steps forward and goes to his knees.

_Mount._

Hannibal runs his hands through Will’s dark, sweat-matted hair.

“You.” The word a treasure, a gift. Reverence. Acceptance. A secret between lovers. They are here, and Will’s eyes are closed and there is one thing he knows of Hannibal. A single, always truth:

The man keeps his promises.

_If you enter my bedroom,_

_I will mount you._

“I,” Will mumbles into the foot of the bed, into the thick, heavy blankets, into their knots and their cables, their waft and weave. Pull one string.

It unravels. 

Hannibal stands over him. There is a dildo and a butt plug on the floor. Hannibal drops to his haunches. Leans in. Kisses Will’s hair. “I thought you would come to me sooner.”

There is pride in it.

“Now feels too soon,” Will says, and he curls his hand in the bedding and pulls a blanket under his chin. He is already half asleep. Broken down. Rag-doll limp and somehow, tears fill his eyes.

“Look at me.”

Will lifts his head.

“One more,” Hannibal says and Will knows what he is asking. “For me.”

Will pushes himself up and crawls onto the bed.

Hannibal sits, the mattress dipping under his weight. He says nothing. Slowly, Will slides the pajamas off, leaves them in a bundle. He lies down on his belly.

“Open for me,” Hannibal says.

“Mount me.”

It was a promise without a timeline.

“Do as you’re told.”

Will shifts in a groan. Digs fingers into the meat of his ass and pulls himself wider. Open. It occurs to Will that deprivation is not depravity and with Hannibal, if he does this with Hannibal. 

There will come a time in which he will not be able to tell the difference. 

Hannibal drags a line down Will’s spine with the tip of his index finger. Even though his heat is over, his hole is still wet and Hannibal caresses him there, and Will… 

Will presses down into the mattress, trapping his cock. 

“For me,” Hannibal says. “Then you will sleep and then, when you can be of better use to me, I will use you.”

Will widens his legs. Hannibal’s fingers slide in easy. The silver plug, the dildo, hours of orgasm and release have made him pliable, open. Slowly, Hannibal fucks his hole, curling his fingers.

It is the only part of him that Hannibal touches. 

“More,” the man says.

Will obliges, dragging his cock over the bedding and lifting his ass. Hannibal pushes deeper.

 This is not Omega. This is Will, giving in. Falling under.

This is the warmth of his belly, the needing clench of him around Hannibal’s fingers, this is a dildo and a silver plug and Will rocks against Hannibal’s touch until Hannibal stills, and presses, and adds more of his hand. Three, four fingers, Will isn’t sure but Will knows the low, spreading warmth and the wet at the head of his cock and he pushes back and…

_Hannibal’s toy might as well be Hannibal’s fist._

“Fuck me,” he roars into the bedding and he thrusts up, now it’s Hannibal’s hand he is riding and begging for and Hannibal lets him. Lets Will work his body and when Will comes he releases the last of his slick as he clenches, holding onto Hannibal’s fingers as if it is his cock.

“Good,” Hannibal whispers as he slowly removes his fingers, wiping them over the curve of Will’s ass.

“Knot me,” Will begs. “Come in me.”

Hannibal leans over and kisses his hair. His right hand rests easy on the swell of Will’s ass, while the other is to his neck, a gentle caress that is not gentle at all.

Will lifts his ass then pushes down again. “Fucking bond me.”

“Oh, my precious boy, have we not already? You went off your suppressants for me. You brought your heat to me and crawled across the floor to me. You came the moment you heard me say your name, and you come now, dragging yourself over my hand, simply because I asked. I don’t need your heat to own you, and I don’t need rut to make you mine. This is what you wanted when you showed up at my door. Your Omega was merely an excuse.”

Of course it was, and now they are here and Will wants nothing more than to be his. Mated. Bonded. Knotted. Fucked.

“You should put that in my notebook,” Will mumbles. What he feels now is entirely him. His Omega feels so far away, a boat on the horizon, in the distance, on a misted, rainy day. 

But Hannibal,

is right here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for the kudos and comments and love! I honestly wasn't sure they were going to get within a foot of each other, but go hormones.
> 
> The next chapter is the last (granted, I said the first chapter was a one-shot so...)
> 
> :) 
> 
> -hX


	6. Experiment: Outcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have you ever eaten a taco before?” he asks, drawing a finger through the guacamole, tasting it.
> 
> “No,” Hannibal says. “I do enjoy pozole.”
> 
> “Stew made from the flesh of sacrificed prisoners?” He doesn’t know if it’s true, because the internet, but Hannibal laughs anyway.
> 
> “Fortunately cannibalism was banned in the 1500’s.”
> 
> “If you’re planning on bringing it back, I’m as tender as I’m ever going to get.”

 

When Will wakes it is dark. Late. There is a towel on the nightstand.

There is a note.

 

_Clean yourself._

_Properly._

_-H_

 

Somehow Will knows the man doesn’t just mean shampoo and conditioner. Will pads down the hallway to the shower. There is a new bar of soap, a new toothbrush. A hairbrush. A razor. Aftershave that did not come from the drugstore.

There is a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. There are socks.

Will hauls himself into the shower and leans into the tile. Water rushes over him. He opens his mouth and swallows down rain. Washes dried slick and dried come and holds himself open and lets the water course over his hole. He is swollen and sore. He runs his thumb over his opening, not because he wants to fuck himself, and not because he needs to come, but because Hannibal. Because he came with Hannibal’s fist half inside him, or all inside him, he’s not sure.

There is soap and water and he takes his time.

Goes downstairs. Moves through this house like it is his house, this museum of curiosity.

Hannibal has made dinner.

“Hey,” Will says like they’re at the grocery store and didn’t expect to run into each other in the produce section halfway between the avocados and the limes. “You’re making guacamole?”

“You like guacamole.”

This is true.

Hannibal turns. He’s made tacos. Actual tacos that are not hard-shell, that don’t come with a packet of random whatever it is ’taco sauce’ and aren’t covered in bagged, shredded cheese.

Will likes bagged, shredded cheese.

“Have you ever eaten a taco before?” he asks, drawing a finger through the guacamole, tasting it.

“No,” Hannibal says. “I do enjoy pozole.”

“Stew made from the flesh of sacrificed prisoners?” He doesn’t know if it’s true, because the internet, but Hannibal laughs anyway.

“Fortunately cannibalism was banned in the 1500’s.”

“If you’re planning on bringing it back, I’m as tender as I’m ever going to get.”

“Duly noted,” Hannibal says pointing to the chair at the kitchen island. “Sit. We will eat. We will talk.”

Of course they will.

Will sits.

Hannibal prepares Will’s plate and somehow it still looks like it’s made from ingredients he has never heard before, even though he can see onions and shredded meat. “Don’t you have appointments tomorrow?”

“Yes, do you have class?”

He doesn’t. “I told Jack I was planning to go through a heat.”

“Did you tell him where?”

Will coughs out shock. “Gods no. But he warned me I’d better find someone to handle my class.”

“He was looking out for your best interests.”

“Or the interests of my Alpha students.”

Hannibal hands Will his dinner. “Are you interested in any of your Alpha students?”

Will folds over a taco before answering. “Two or three are definitely fuckable, but they’re a bit—”

“Young for you?”

He is not quite ready to call Hannibal ‘Daddy’ but he also doesn’t need a 23 year old mate. “Something like that.” Answered with his mouth half-full. “Gods this is delicious.”

“I’d like you to stay the night,” Hannibal says, as he scoops very precise mounds of guacamole onto his plate.

“Isn’t it already night?”

“Technically.”

“In the spare room?”

“In my room.”

"And then?"

"Will," Hannibal lifts a hand. "We are not children navigating a first relationship. We are gender compatible, desire compatible and, if your notebook is any indication, you enjoy my company. I have no plan to mate with, knot, fuck or bond with anyone but you. I trust this is amenable." 

There it is. It’s different if they’re just fucking. It’s different if Hannibal just fucks him and then he goes, drives home to his dogs and his cabin and his middle-of-the-nowhere and at least he was smart enough to ask his neighbour to pop by by and make sure all seven of them were okay. “All right.” A breath. "Yeah. Yes." All of it. 

Hannibal smiles. “Eat your dinner, Will.”

Like Will is a child. Will is so fucking hungry, he doesn’t give a shit.

#

When the dishes are done, Hannibal leads Will back upstairs. Will doesn’t know if Hannibal wants him naked or dressed, and there’s a moment in which thinking Hannibal might have a preference causes a lump to rise in this throat. Maybe the old man can sense it because he waves at Will even as he is unbuttoning his own shirt.

“It is well documented that sleep is more restful if one does not bother with clothes.”

Will tucks his fingers into the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head.

“You could also put that in your notebook,” Hannibal says as he hangs up his own clothing. “Which I will then read.”

There is no question in it.

“It’s my notebook,” Will reminds him.

“Yes, and your experiment which, you might recall, I was a part of.”

There’s not much room for argument. It’s odd now, now that Will isn’t in some heat-haze and they are just two men who have never fucked before, who have never slept in the same bed before, who have never even kissed. If it is only ever Hannibal’s fingers in Will, Hannibal forcing his orgasms, it might be enough.

It would never be enough.

“What side?”

Hannibal points to the right.

Will looks at Hannibal. “I’m not tired.”

Hannibal scratches at his collarbone. “Get on the bed, Will.”

Will does as he’s ordered and everytime Hannibal orders him around he wants to fight it, but there’s also this: every time Hannibal tells him what to do, sparks light up in his chest.

Hannibal sits, just as he did before he fucked Will, just before he worked Will, before Will came, desperate and whimpering on his hand. “What do you want?”

Gods, the only thing he wants is what Hannibal promised. “What do you think? Fucking mount me.”

The man makes a low sound and then he is on Will, one hand around the man’s neck and the other in his hair and his kiss is brutal, biting. It is teeth and tear.

Will falls back onto the bed, Hannibal is over, above him, his knee between Will’s legs, grinding into his cock and his mouth and teeth are everywhere.

Will groans, nips Hannibal’s lip and the older man growls, shifts as he grips Will’s shoulder, pulling him forward, flipping him over until Will is flat on his belly.

“Not one for foreplay?” Will laughs.

“I’ve had twenty fucking how many hours of foreplay, twenty hours listening to you fuck yourself. Listening to you come, screaming my name. My whole house smells of your want.” Hannibal slaps Will, hard, across his thigh. “Get your ass up.”

Will goes to all fours, drops his head. Presents himself like he’s in heat, even as Hannibal cups the back of his head and pushes his face to the mattress.

“My pathetic little Omega.”

Will tenses, digs his fingers into the bedding.

“How beautiful you are.”

It helps. Doesn’t help.

“Lift.”

Will does.

There is the snap of a bottle, the cold wet against Will’s ass. Hannibal’s own, slick fingers trace Will’s hole. “Yes or no?”

Will nods into the sheets.

“Vocalize, Will.”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

Hannibal shifts to get closer, shifts until he’s half on top of Will and then slides his other hand beneath Will, reaching for his cock.

“What did I promise you?”

Will remembers. “If I entered your bedroom, you would mount me.”

Hannibal laughs, circles Will’s cock. “Every time. In this room. In heat or in rut, I will mount you and I will knot you until you can’t separate your desire from your Omega’s.” He strokes down. Will moves against the pressure, fucking Hannibal’s fist. “Are we clear?”

Will groans, nods.

Hannibal releases his grip on Will’s cock. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, clear,” Will whimpers and Hannibal strokes him again. Strokes him until he is hard and seeping.

“Good,” Hannibal says as he shifts again, wrapping himself around Will, dragging his cockhead over the crack of Will’s ass. “You know what to do.”

He does. Pressing his forehead into the bed he reaches back and parts his ass cheeks for Hannibal.

All there is, is the sound of contentment, and the press of Hannibal’s cock against his hole.

“Yes?”

It is all fucking yes. “Fuck me, Hanni—.”

Before Will can finish the sentence, Hannibal drives his cock deep into Will. Will shudders and screams, dropping his hands to the bed to keep from collapsing.

Hannibal leans forward, his hands curled over Will’s shoulders, nails dig into flesh, break the skin and Will does not care.

This.

This is all his Omega wanted, to be fucked by his Alpha, to be taken and used and mounted and mated. This is all Will wanted. To be this for his Alpha. His Hannibal.

Hannibal breathes into Will's neck, lapping at his skin. He bares his teeth and Will turns his head. “Yes, fuck yes.”

 For the bond to seal, Will would have to be in heat and Hannibal in rut. He is already Hannibal’s. Has been for so long. 

Hannibal tears into Will’s flesh, gnawing and biting as he pushes himself deeper. Hannibal drives his cock into Will.

“Please, Hannibal.” Will fucks back, taking as much of Hannibal as he can and when he feels the man’s cock expand, feels the knot inflate, he cries out. The pressure, the way his Alpha’s cock stretches him hits him everywhere all at once and he comes, sudden and hard. His body tries to push Hannibal's cock from his hole, but the knot holds. Keeps Will full of Hannibal's seed.

Hannibal holds him tight, grips him, one arm around his neck like a bar, a chokehold, and drives his cock, his knot deeper into Will until Will cries out again as he is stretched wider than any toy. Hannibal prepared him, but there is also this:

nothing has prepared him for Hannibal.

The hurt is not pleasure, but it is everything Will wanted.

“Will,” Hannibal leans back, curls his hand around Will’s neck and holds him there as he fucks his demanding Omega, as his knot stretches Will’s perfect, needing hole.

“Don’t move, don’t stop,” Will begs and Hannibal only murmurs.

_No. No. No._

_#_

Hannibal slumps over Will, kisses the back of his neck and his hair. His cock throbs inside his Omega, his boy, if the Daddy thing turns out to be true.

His perfect fucked up experiment.

They don’t speak. Hannibal could slide out from Will, could try, but find he does not want to. “I’m rolling you over,” he whispers, finally, and Will moves as he is directed.

#

Hannibal holds Will tight. His knot intact. Will’s cock is half-mast, half hard and Hannibal drops his chin to Will’s shoulder. “How do you feel?”

“Fucked,” Will says, but he’s smiling.

“Hrm” Hannibal murmurs, and then his hand circles Will’s cock and he strokes it again, urging Will’s response.

“I’m not in heat,” Will says.

“You’re knotted, eventually your body won’t care and it will respond to my knot, and you’ll come as many times as I ask, because I am your Alpha.”

Will leans back and closes his eyes. “Like now?”

“Like right now,” Hannibal says and he works Will’s cock, and moves just enough to make his knot push in all the right ways. “And tomorrow, and when I’m bored of dealing with someone’s tedious problem and I make some excuse about a phone call and I call you instead and tell you to think of my cock and my knot.”

“You’re going to use me for phone sex?”

“Hrm,” Hannibal says, dragging his thumb over Will’s slit.

Will hisses in response and, “I should probably just move in.”

“You should fucking come for me,” Hannibal says, and he jerks Will’s cock, pull and drag and Will lifts up, still attached to his Alpha, and comes all over his belly.

 

#

 

Hannibal wraps his forearm around the other man’s chest. “How long is your gap between cycles?”

“Three weeks,” Will says. At least they used to be, before he went on suppressants. “Maybe sooner. I don’t know anymore.” Sometimes, he knows, when the Omega’s body adjusts to the lack of suppressing hormone, mating/heat cycles are unpredictable until the body adjusts. Will’s not sure it matters. He was sure, when he showed up at ten o’clock and Hannibal asked if they had an appointment.

“That’s unusual. We should work on having you coincide with my rut.”

Will may need another notebook. “Are you saying you want to fuck me for an extended period, Dr. Lecter?”

Hannibal spreads his hand over Will’s belly. Will hasn’t moved. He’s not clean. He does not fucking care.

“I suspect I would enjoy fucking you for twelve hours straight.”

As Hobbs did.

Will presses down, disappointed that Hannibal’s knot has finally deflated, but his cock is still there, pushing softly into the meat of his ass. “And then who will you kill?”

Hannibal wraps a hand around Will’s well-used cock and presses a kiss to his hair. “Anyone you asked me to.”

 

-Fin-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finished! Thank you So So Much for reading and kudos and comments and liking this weird experiment :D I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> I had a wicked amount of fun writing this and so there may be more? (Will he move in? Will they have phone sex? Will they ever leave Hannibal's room? Will there be more tacos?)
> 
> (this one was posted semi-quickly so if i note any glaring errors, i will come back and make fix)
> 
> :)
> 
> -hX


End file.
